jmt57
Moderator
Staff member
PatsFans.com Supporter
2024 Weekly Picks Winner
2025 Weekly Picks Winner
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2005
- Messages
- 23,684
- Reaction score
- 19,597
Today in Patriots History
Jack Tatum Parlyzes Darryl Stingley
Jack Tatum Parlyzes Darryl Stingley
August 12, 1978:
On this date in 1978 Darryl Stingley was paralyzed from a hit in a preseason game by Jack Tatum of the Oakland Raiders. Stingley would spend the rest of his life as a quadriplegic and died in 2007 due to heart disease and pneumonia, complicated by the paralysis.
A retrospective from August 30, 2018:
'Horribly vicious': Revisiting the hit that forever stamped football as a violent game - The Athletic
Imagine the sideline.
That’s what I’m thinking about right now, at this very moment.
Imagine being inside the Oakland Coliseum, standing along the New England Patriots sideline on the night of Aug. 12, 1978. Maybe you’re Bill Lenkaitis, a 10-year veteran center, itching for another NFL season to begin. Maybe you’re Carlos Pennywell, a rookie wide receiver from Grambling, a third-round pick overwhelmed by the sudden upgrades in size and speed. Maybe you’re a free agent nobody from Nobody State, receiving but a thimble-sized taste of the bright lights and loud crowds before being asked to turn in your playbook and a career as a lawyer/plumber/mechanic/teacher commences. Maybe you’re Chuck Fairbanks, the head coach, hoping for a nice, easy ride before leaving for the University of Colorado at season’s end.
Imagine standing along the sideline.
Forty years have passed, and I still can’t fully grasp what that must have been like. As is the case now, in 1978 the NFL preseason was viewed by most players and coaches as a largely unimportant collection of movements and mannerisms, primarily used to get the beer drinkers and cigarette smokers into what was laughably referred to as “football shape.” Sure, once Week One commenced, rivals were allowed to hate rivals, and the ritualistic 1970s staples of in-the-scrum eyeball gouging and testicle-sack ripping would be fair game. But preseason? Preseason? No. Preseason was a jog around the track.
Preseason was nothing.
So, once again, imagine being on the sideline, 13 minutes and 34 seconds into the second quarter, when you think nothing of note is happening and, in truth, everything of note is happening. For those who were there, watching up close, the vision is unlikely to ever vanish the mind’s eye. Ever.
Steve Grogan, the Patriots’ quarterback, takes the snap from Lenkaitis and drops back three steps. He glances quickly toward the right, where Don Calhoun is curling out of the backfield. He pumps once, then turns his head and fires a dart across the middle, three steps in front of his intended target, wide receiver Darryl Stingley. Grogan will one day be a very solid NFL signal caller, but here—at the start of his fourth season—he remains a work in progress. Balls tend to leave his hand a hair too early. They also, at times, seem to sail.
This ball sails.
Stingley, a speedster out of Purdue, was approaching his 27th birthday and coming off a season during which he caught 39 balls for 657 yards and five touchdowns. He was known for his kind, peppy demeanor, but also for his toughness. Many an NFL wide receiver feared to venture toward the middle of the field. This was well before look-don’t-touch rules were adopted by the league; before corners and safeties would be penalized for sneezing on a wideout. Nope, back in 1978 to enter an opposing secondary was to stroll through the streets of Rio at midnight as a tourist. You were, with near certainty, going to get mugged.
So Stingley, being Stingley, crossed into the Raider secondary, and as he extended his arms to grab an un-grabbable ball, head up, legs kicked out, free safety Jack Tatum charged forward. Known as “The Assassin” for a propensity toward violence, Tatum lowered his right shoulder and bulldozed directly into Stingley’s neck and head. The wide receiver fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, as Tatum walked off.
“It was horribly vicious,” says Lesley Visser, who covered the game for the Boston Globe. “Brutal.”
What followed is … what? Donald Fink, the Raiders team physician, rushed onto the field, where he squatted alongside Stingley and looked for hope. Stingley could not feel his toes. Or his fingers. For 10 minutes he was motionless, and for 10 minutes the Patriots sideline was silent. Many of the players took knees. Others stood in disbelief, staring into the sky, anxious for a twitch, for an elbow flex, for a head raise. “All I can think about is Darryl,” Pete Brock, a backup center, said afterward. “God, I hope he will be alright.”
“Guys get hurt—we all know that,” says Nick Lowery, who kicked for New England that season. “But that was different because it was so raw and ruthless. You don’t see that and walk away unscathed.”
As angry as the tragic event makes Patriot fans feel to this day, it was also an embarrassing moment in the history of the franchise.
Toomay: A Madden in Full, Part 2
In Part 10 of his series on the 1977 Raiders, Pat Toomay completes his examination of John Madden.
www.espn.com
Only a play or two before Stingley went down, John Madden, who was growing more and more upset because all night long the Patriots had been probing the Raiders middle with passes, turned to the guy beside him and said, "They'd better stop doing that or somebody's going to get hurt!"
It happened in the second quarter -- a hurried pass launched over the middle for Stingley, who was slanting into the secondary. It was high and too far in front of him. Leaving his feet, Stingley was prone in the air, arms outstretched, as the ball sailed past him. In my memory, there he hangs.
For his part, Jack Tatum seemed fooled. Having started back to his right, he pulled up as the ball was released. The receiver, he realized, was coming from the opposite direction. Jack turned, but managed only three or four strides before the action was upon him. He crouched over, sort of leaning into Stingley as the Patriots receiver drifted toward him. They collided. Stingley, in an awkward position, fell to the turf. There was no explosive hit. No flying helmet. Yet Stingley was down. He wasn't moving. He wasn't getting up.
Trainers from both teams rushed out on the field. They tended to Darryl for a long time. Then an ambulance was summoned. Darryl was carefully loaded up and carted off. The game resumed, but under a sickening pall.
After the game, Madden went directly to the hospital. It was Madden's first instinct to go to Stingley. At the hospital, Stingley had been found to have fractured vertebrae in his neck and was being fitted with a halo brace to stabilize the injury. Our physicians, thankfully, had risen to the occasion. Having overseen a safe transport, they had summoned the appropriate specialists. Experts were now at hand.
But even at the hospital something was dissonant, out of sync. Expecting to find himself among concerned New England officials, Madden found himself alone. No one from the Patriots was there. Not the owner. Not the coach. No one.
Grabbing a phone, Madden called the Oakland airport. Immediately, he was patched through to the New England charter, taxiing out to take off. A more than animated discussion followed. The plane returned to the gate. The business manager was put off.
In the hospital, Stingley was conscious, as doctors worked to fit the halo. Having donned surgeon's garb, Madden appeared beside him, leaning close. "Everything's going to be all right," he whispered. If only it had been true.
Meanwhile, a second disaster was averted. On the New England charter, now airborne and headed east, players were struggling to understand Stingley's injury when an engine started gushing fuel. Immediately, the flight was diverted to San Francisco. A dozen fire trucks lined the runway as the plane touched down.












